


let's write our sins across this blank page

by redlightwarning



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Writer Toby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlightwarning/pseuds/redlightwarning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toby is an erotic novelist just trying to make his deadline.</p><p>He sucks at not writing about Happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's write our sins across this blank page

**Author's Note:**

> A slightly early birthday present for the ever-lovely [Anna.](http://insertclever-titlehere.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Happy 20th birthday, my dear! I hope this proves to be the surprise I planned it to be, but if it's not, it's probably my fault for spending five days complaining about this fic as I cranked it out and absolutely not Em's, who I sent off to subtly earn your trust and ask for your tumblr url in a rather impressive display of espionage. My own attempt was less than impressive because I checked your birth date at least three times, but you seemed unsuspecting enough. This is just a short note to say that although we have not know each other for very long, I'm so very glad that we became acquainted. You're charming and witty and you truly do know how to make me laugh. You and the girls have become something of a lifeline to me as of late and I adore and appreciate all of you for it. I hope that 20 brings more happiness than 19 ever could, and also that it is actually your 20th birthday and that I didn't just make that up. Have yourself a wonderful day and smile as big and as bright as you can because you deserve it! 
> 
> All my love,  
> Megan x

Toby isn’t stuck in a rut, okay, so ‘feel free to ignore anyone that says otherwise’ is usually the motto of his life.

He has _writer’s block_ , that’s it.

It’s just that no one seems to believe him.

“Honey, make sure you have at least a chapter for me by the end of the week otherwise there’s nothing I can do to stop the deal from falling through, okay?” His publicist, Linda, says with a lipsticked smile, as if he’s not going to completely mess this up and become officially unemployed again and then he’ll fall behind on his share of the bills and not only will he be kicked out of the apartment, Happy will be too and then they’ll both be homeless and end up selling their bodies on the streets until they eventually end up on crack and die of an overdose…

Linda must see something desperate in his face because she gives him a smug grin and he knows what she’s going to suggest before she even says it.

“Write about her for me, okay, and I’ll make you a millionaire!”

As if what Toby wants is money.

He needs the money, yes.

But he wants to not use and scare off his best friend, if at all possible.

“Don’t you pull that face at me, young man!”

Linda tugs at his cheek and grabs her handbag and her phone, answering a call seemingly before it’s even ringing, and she’s sweeping out of the front door in a mist of perfume and perfectly coiffed curls, throwing a quick ‘love ya’ over her shoulder and leaving Toby stunned in the doorway.

Happy appears at his shoulder a moment later and eyes the empty stairwell for a second before she apparently picks up on Linda’s chatter.

“Linda?” she asks, and Toby just nods but doesn’t move from the open door, too busy watching all of his talent being sucked out of the room and following Linda to find someone else, someone worthy of international erotic novel success.

“What did she want?”

Toby sighs and drops his head against the door jamb with an audible thud. It doesn’t hurt as much as the knowledge of his impending tailspin into despair when he can’t give Linda what she wants.

“A chapter by Friday,” he mutters. He sounds a bit choked up to his own ears and his bottom lip twitches dangerously.

“Doesn’t sound so bad.”

Toby thinks it sounds like the worst thing in the world but he doesn’t mention his opinion on the subject because it’s maybe the nicest thing Happy’s ever said to him without a drink in her hand and he appreciates the effort.

“Come on,” she says as she drags him away from the door to close it and he lets himself be directed towards his desk in the corner of the dining room and pushed into his chair. He opens a new document and stares at the blinking cursor as his eyes burn.

There’s a hand in his periphery a few minutes later and he blinks dazedly up at Happy as she puts a cup of coffee on his desk and brushes an ink smudge from his brow. He closes his eyes and lets himself pretend for a second that there’s something more behind it all before she’s moving away and all he’s left with is cooling coffee and a blank document.

He drinks more cups of coffee than he should over the next few hours as the sun slowly sinks in the sky and the apartment cools and he types, and when he blinks, it’s past midnight and Toby’s brain aches and when he’s reading back through what he’s written, it’s clear that it’s all trash and he deletes the lot.

His back cracks as he stands and it’s hard to roll the tension out of his shoulders. He turns on the spot and freezes when he sees Happy, curled up asleep on the sofa under a throw, her fingers caught in between pages of a book that threatens to fall at any moment. He considers her for a moment before he inches forward to crouch in front of her. Her breath is fanning her hair slightly and she’s impossibly beautiful and he wants nothing more than to etch her sharp corners onto paper with words. He tugs the book from her grip and takes note of the page number before he flips it closed to see the cover, his lips pulling up into a grin when he sees Roald Dahl’s _‘Danny, the Champion of the World’_.

“Toby?”

She blinks sleepily up at him and huddles further under the thin blanket.

“Yeah?” His voice is hoarse from the lack of use and the quiet is intimate, the moment hidden in a bubble from the rest of the world.

“How did it go?”

Toby shakes his head and Happy doesn’t ask any more questions.

He offers his hand to her to help her up, pulls her closer when she shivers at the cool breeze sweeping through the room.

They make it to their rooms eventually, even if he does have to half carry her there when she falls asleep against his shoulder, or pretends to anyway because she smiles at him when he reaches her room and she finds her footing again and tells him that ‘it’ll be okay, we’ll try again tomorrow.’

When her bedroom door clicks shut, he’s left watching the space she just occupied for a few seconds before he finally drags himself to his own bed and collapses on top of the covers fully clothed.

He forgets about his publisher and the book deal and considers the story he wants to write instead.

He sleeps for hours.

-x-

When he wakes up the next morning, the apartment is empty and silent and Toby vows to write something today that he can actually hand over to Linda come Friday.

It doesn’t work out quite like that though.

He spends a lot of time procrastinating to start with.

He readies himself for his day and he goes down to the fancy bakery on the corner for his favourite scones and he revels in the sun shining through the windows onto his table and the breath of fresh air he gets every time the door opens and when he finally makes his way back home, he spends a few hours tidying up after hurricane Happy and generally pretending that he’s not as freaked out by his impending deadline as he really is.

And when he sits down to write, the words flow from his fingertips like water and it’s easy and he’s smiling and when he reads back through it, he’s not even surprised that it all needs to be erased forever to never see the light of day ever again.

Of course it couldn’t be that easy.

Where’s the fun in that?

-x-

He means to get a good night’s sleep and try again the next day but he’s torn from his sleep by dreams of vague park benches and the bitter chill of winter and Happy’s disappointed frown and his incredible imagination and eye for detail makes it about a thousand times scarier than it sounds.

He shoots up in bed, his heart pounding and back wet with perspiration and it’s silly but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to breathe properly until he writes something, anything at all, just _something_.

So he creeps out into the living room and he opens the empty document he’s been staring at for weeks and he lets himself write. Write freely and openly and without censor and everything he’s been thinking and feeling for the past god knows how long is being ripped from him and it’s exhausting, but also terrifying and exhilarating and wonderful all at once, and he can’t bring himself to stop.

It’s easy and hard and manageable and overwhelming simultaneously, and he types and types and types and types, until he’s hearing the clacking of keys instead of his own heartbeat and his mind is as blank as the document once was and it stills something inside him, something frenetic and anxious and frustrated goes quiet with each keystroke.

So he types and types as the birds begin singing their morning song and the world is lit up in golden detail and he doesn’t stop until his eyes itch and his brain feels loose and useless in his skull.

Then he stops and he closes his eyes and he breathes again.

And when he shuts his laptop and goes back to bed and collapses onto his mattress, he’s asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

-x-

He’s not sure what time it is when he next wakes up and he really couldn’t say how much sleep he’s had either, he just knows that he left his curtains open before he went to bed last night and that he really regrets it now.

He also knows he has a banging headache and he never wants to move from his nest of blankets and pillows, but he’s pretty sure he’s experiencing caffeine withdrawal at this point so needs must and all that.

He stumbles from his bed, his feet catching in his bedspread and almost leaving him flat on his face but he rights himself eventually, and he wanders through the apartment in a daze. He’s in the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee warming his hands before he notices he’s not alone.

The _Scooby Doo_ theme tune is blaring from the living room and when he pushes the door open, he’s only half surprised to see Happy sitting on the sofa eating a bowl of cereal, feet propped up on the coffee table next to maybe a dozen small bottles of nail polish.

“You know, that you spend your free time watching cartoons probably says a lot about your psyche.” He passes the sofa to flop down onto the coffee table, directly in front of her view of the _meddling kids and their dog too_ and pulls her foot into his lap. She’s only painted three toes, and if she’s trying to make a pattern of them then Toby can’t figure it out. One’s sky blue, one’s a glittering silver and the third a sunny yellow. He peruses the assortment of colours she has before he picks up a dark green and unscrews the cap to finish what she started. “Aren’t you supposed to be working today?”

Happy rolls her eyes at him, mutters a ‘ _whatever you say, doc_ ’ around her mouthful of breakfast as she leans to one side to try and catch the tail end of the big reveal that’s unfolding on the screen.

“I swapped with Angela. She wanted Saturday off to see her boyfriend.”

Toby gives a vague sound of acknowledgement but doesn’t reply. He can feel her gaze, hot as iron against his skin, and it makes his body feel distinctly _other_. He blows gently against the drying polish and flicks the sole of her foot when he’s done and tries to remember if this is usual procedure for them. She follows him with no qualms though, brings her other foot up to his lap so he assumes it must be and that makes it hard to concentrate on anything other than the blood rushing in his ears.

“Are you writing today?”

Toby thinks back to the document and the thousands of words he wrote in the early hours of the morning of which a few remembered snippets are beginning to haunt him now. He paints her nails and remembers ‘ _hands flexing in the sheets as she throws her head back, her breath hot and damp against his cheek’_ and when she nudges him with her foot, he looks up just in time to see her catch a stray drop of milk on her lip with her tongue and he wants to cry a little bit.

He affects an air of nonchalance and a grin that feels too bright and wooden.

“Nope. No writing today. I deserve a rest.”

Happy frowns at him but doesn’t comment and he’s suddenly itching to break the peace. He caps the nail polish brush back in its bottle and blows against her toes again, wrapping his hand around her ankle when she twitches away and is helpless against visions of pressing kisses against her bone and the arch of her foot as he pulls off her heavy boots and tracing his fingers up her thighs.

He stands abruptly, feeling flushed and ashamed like he’s just been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar and he all but snatches her empty bowl out of her hand and stalks into the kitchen to start washing the pots that have accumulated over the past day.

For the next few minutes, he sulks and takes all of his frustrations out on the crockery and he hates himself for it.

“It’ll be okay, you know.”

Toby jumps at her voice and when he turns to look at her, it’s hard not to feel fond at her concerned pout or the way she’s leaning against the door frame so she can balance on her heels so as not to smudge the polish. He tries to inhale around his panic and it’s shaky and loud.

“You’ll figure something out. You always do.”

Her vote of confidence means a lot but he doesn’t know how to deal with that, so he gives her a weak grin and tries to calm his heartbeat.

“Where are you off to anyway? Hot date?”

She shrugs but her smile gives away her excitement.

“Something like that. Ben’s picking me up at 5.”

“Well, don’t you think you best get ready then, it’s-” He leans over to catch a glimpse of the clock and winces at the time. “How is it nearly 3?”

Happy snorts and hobbles away again. “Because you slept until half two.”

-x-

The apartment bustles with activity as Happy prepares for her date but this time, Toby can’t bring himself to be swept away in it all and start making a nuisance of himself like he usually does. It’s a bit of a loss, to be honest; he loves poking through her closet and always finds the strangest things in her makeup bag to interrogate her over until she snaps at him.

Instead, Toby sits on the sofa, practically immovable, and tries to tear his thoughts away from his deadline.

He’s anxious to see what he wrote when he was too tired to keep his thoughts in check and too frustrated to care, but he refuses to look when Happy could swoop in at any second and see something incriminating over his shoulder.

The agony of the suspense is killing him though, and he’s counting down the seconds until Happy leaves and it’s taking forever. He feels taut, his thoughts keep shooting back to his laptop when he tries to distract himself and when Happy asks him if he’s okay, urges him to write if he’s distracted, he’s more annoyed at his inability to be subtle.

Finally though, the doorbell goes and Toby waits the prerequisite five seconds for Happy to appear before he opens it himself and comes face to face with Happy’s date for the evening.

The guy, Ben, is tall and classically handsome with a sharp jaw and dark eyes and Toby doesn’t like him, even as he gives Toby an easy, if slightly confused, smile.

“Hey, I’m looking for Happy?”

His voice is smooth like cream and Toby could understand the appeal maybe, if this Ben fellow didn’t set his teeth on edge so. He returns the smile anyway and steps back to allow Ben into the apartment.

“She won’t be a minute,” he assures him before he’s turning his back with just a vague gesture for Ben to follow. He leads Ben into the kitchen and sits at the table in the chair closest to the door and pays attention to Ben’s expression when he realizes he’s been caged into a corner. It’s childish and aggressive and Toby has to school his features into something that looks a little less like a smirk.

“You want a drink?”

Ben declines the offer but Toby reaches for a glass and a long-treasured bottle of whiskey anyway, in part because he feels like he’s going to need it to survive waving Happy off with this guy, but also as an intimidation tactic if anyone were to ask.

Toby catches Ben’s gaze and holds it. He gives the man a serene smile and counts slowly to 100 as Ben twitches and shifts uncomfortably in front of him and the charming twinkle in his eye slowly fades.

“So, Ben,” Toby finally says. “What is it that you do?”

Ben’s smiling again and it riles Toby up.

“I’m a, er, corporate manager. For an IT solutions company.”

Toby gives a quiet snort but nods anyway.

“If you hurt her, we’re going to have a problem.” His serene smile does not waver even as Ben gapes and sputters at him. “If you hurt her, she will probably break your legs and I’m very willing to offer her an alibi if she-”

He’s cut off by a palm making swift contact with the back of his head and both of the men jump at her voice.

“Stop being a jerk.”

Toby would complain but it’s kind of hard to make his mouth cooperate when he sees her. She looks radiant and also like she could snap his neck without warning, all shorts, leather jacket and heavy boots with impressive heels. He dry swallows around the lump in his throat, lost to the ongoing conversation between Happy and her date, too caught up in his thoughts until Happy waves a hand in front of his face.

“Hi, yes, sorry. Call me if you need me.” Toby glares at the date one last time before he’s wrapping his arm around Happy’s waist and leading her out of the door even as she grimaces and he can’t help the snicker that spills out of him.

When the door finally slams shut, Toby breathes a sigh of relief. He putters around for a few minutes, opening and shutting the kitchen cupboards and flicking through the discarded pile of mail on the side before he finally steels himself, sort of.

He ends up stood opposite his desk, bottle of whiskey in his hand and considering every choice he has ever made in his life before he finally manages to move.

The laptop whirs as it starts up and Toby takes a swig from the bottle as he opens the document, eyes locked on the page count shooting up as it loads.

 _1, 2, 3... 8, 9 ...23, 24..._ Toby chokes when it finally stills at _32_ , takes a long sip from the bottle and sets to examining the damage.

Except, as he reads on, he comes to a horrifying realisation.

It’s kind of really fucking good.

It’s subtle and warm and there’s a certain rhythm to the words that sounds wonderfully poetic and Toby could actually cry.

Because it’s about Happy.

Every word on every page an ode to her strength, her intellect and her sense of self and the very picture she paints is breathtakingly erotic. Without a shadow of a doubt, Toby knows that this is his magnum opus.

This is his very soul laid bare within the woven tale of long-term friends falling into bed on a whim and it reads more like a love story than anything he’s ever written before. It’s their entire friendship reflected in a funhouse mirror and Toby’s heart aches for what they could be. He reads through the story and drinks steadily until he can’t even help himself and he’s editing things out, adding extra information, fiddling with the structure and his words until it feels perfect to his addled mind and he might be giggling to himself, giddy with pride and turned on beyond belief.

But that’s okay because he’s drunk and alone and he’s writing about turning all of his attention on Happy until she’s a trembling mess, driven boneless with pleasure.

What’s not okay is that he gets absolutely sloshed on cheap alcohol, deletes the document, restores it and then sends it off to Linda before he can change his mind.

He instantly regrets it, but it’s done, and the only thing he can do is half crawl to the sofa and pass out in a puddle of limbs and self-loathing.

-x-

He wakes up on the living room floor the next day, arm trapped uncomfortably beneath him in a way that pulls at his shoulder and he’s shivering too, the blanket thrown over him not saving him from the cold.

His head throbs and his stomach rolls when he considers moving and he’s briefly confused as to why he’s awake to even experience the hangover but he slowly becomes aware of his phone vibrating beneath his chest.

Toby grapples with his blanket and his twisted clothes and his tenuous grasp on consciousness to grab his phone, just as it’s about to ring out and he punches buttons as he tries to answer it when his eyes have yet to adjust to daylight.

“‘Ello?”

Toby is wildly unprepared for the flurry of words he gets in response.

“Toby, my darling, I knew you had it in you if you’d just stop being so stubborn!”

He pulls his phone away from his ear with a wince at the volume of her voice and takes a second to sneak a glance at the time. It’s 10:23am, which is later than he assumed, but still way too early to be dealing with his life right now.

“Linda?” he asks, and if he sounds a little bit desperate it’s because his head is killing him and he’s so confused and he just wants his bed.

“Of course it’s Linda, silly. I just had to call you, Toby, this is amazing! Simply wonderful! Now I’ve not finished it yet but I’ve sent it straight on and we hope to see things set in motion by Tuesday, if that sounds good to you?”

At once Toby is alert, his heart sticking in his throat for a moment as a frisson of fear dances down his spine and he is silently begging and pleading that Linda is not talking about what Toby thinks she might be talking about.

“Linda, what are you talking about?”

Linda gives a laugh, happy and bright and Toby just feels sick.

“No need to be modest around here, darling, because this draft you sent me last night...” She gives a wistful smile and her tone goes softer, a little disbelieving around the edges. “It’s positively enchanting!”

Toby remains silent, acquainting himself with the stark horror of knowing that he’s really fucked things up this time. He considers Happy finding out and Happy being embarrassed and losing her forever and his stomach twists and rolls and he just has to stop it from happening.

“Linda, please, you can’t publish it.”

There’s a pregnant pause and Toby holds his breath and dares to let himself hope.

“What are you talking about?”

“Linda, please, I was drunk and desperate for something to give you and scared of being homeless. I didn’t mean to send it to you and _you can’t publish it!_ ”

He’s half hysterical, breath coming short and fast and he sounds shrill to his own ears.

“Mr Curtis,” Linda begins, coolly professional in a way Toby hasn’t heard of her since he was 27 and unemployed, “might I remind you that you took your payment in advance. I couldn’t possibly allow you to withdraw the draft now, as that would be in direct violation of the contract you signed with our publishing house.”

Toby winces because he does remember the contract and he does remember accepting the down payment and he definitely remembers financial repercussions listed in said contract if Toby were to back out of the deal at a later date.

“Please, Linda,” he begs and he’d be on his knees right now if they were in the same room. “There’s got to be something you can do.”

She sighs and she sounds tired and disappointed and maybe a little regretful.

“I’m afraid it’s all out of my hands now.”

“Right.”

There’s a brief stalemate of sorts, where neither make any attempt to continue the conversation on the back of a non-argument.

“Toby?”

“Yeah?”

“Might I suggest that you tell her how you feel before the book is published? I think it’ll be better if it comes from you.”

Toby nods like Linda can see and it’s all he can do but offer a quick “thanks” before he hangs up and drops his phone on the floor.

He feels thick and numb and heavy all over and he stares at the carpet as his vision blurs.

-x-

Over the next few weeks, Toby broods, and he is anything but subtle about it.

He’s irritable and snappy and he spends a lot of time picking through the terms of his contract with a fine-tooth comb, searching for anything at all that can stop the publication from going ahead.

His labour remains fruitless, although he does become something of an expert on case law and precedent, which is interesting enough, it just doesn’t really help.

On a rainy Tuesday, frustrated and tired, he gives up and resigns himself to the inevitability of the situation.

It doesn’t make him less cranky.

He spends half of his time clinging desperately to Happy and the other half avoiding her completely and he’s angry at everything.

He’s annoyed when she gets home late from work and annoyed when she shuts herself away in her room when she’s tired of dealing with him and he’s practically livid when she goes on a second date with Ben, even though she turns him down for a third and they’re both miserable.

Things have never been so tense between them before and they’re both floundering and fueling each other until they’re locked in cycles of nitpicking and pride, both defensive, and eventually, the apartment goes quiet and cold in the wake of it all.

-x-

Throughout the drama and fighting, a few things have remained somewhat sacred. Like Sunday morning breakfasts and crossword puzzles and they both cling to the worn roots of their friendship as the tides of their lives have them drifting away.

Except it’s a Wednesday and Arrow is playing on the tv and, yeah they have popcorn and poptarts, but Toby isn’t texting pointless predictions and spoiler alerts to Happy because his phone is ringing.

And ringing.

And ringing.

Toby ignores his phone as it rings out for the fourth time and remains as steadfast as he has since he mistakenly sent the draft to Linda. He’s accepted that there’s no way he can stop things from going ahead, but he can try to control the explosion, so to speak. So he’s remaining firm on the subject, absolutely no promotion for his book whatsoever.

And like, yeah the contracts say he has to engage in the promotional aspects of publishing, but the contract doesn’t actually specify that he’s not allowed to excuse himself from said promotions due to a long-term illness. So he doesn’t agree to interviews or photo shoots or book signings. He doesn’t even consider meeting with directors and he releases a statement on his website that says he’s been feeling a little under the weather as of late and that he apologizes to his fans and he ignores his twitter for days at a time.

His phone begins to chirp again from its position on the coffee table and Toby barely spares it a glance.

Yeah, some bigwigs in suits are probably really pissed off, but all the positive reviews suggest he’s about to make them a fortune so it’s not actually like Toby cares.

He just lets it ring.

“Will you please just _answer the phone_ _already?”_ Happy snaps, her tone like Pennsylvanian steel and Toby jumps as the sound, attention ripped away from the show.

Happy is glaring at him and her fists are clenching and relaxing like she’s tempted to punch him and it throws him.

_“Well?”_

Toby has to take a second to find words because what?

“What?”

The phone screen lights up again as it trills again and Happy snatches it off the table and throws it at Toby’s chest.

“What is your _problem_?”

Toby looks down at his phone in his lap, still ringing obnoxiously, and back at Happy, his cheeks colouring.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but he does and she knows it.

“You’ve been an asshole for weeks now and you’re ruining _everything!”_

Toby doesn’t say anything to that because he doesn’t know what exactly she’s considered ‘ruined’ and that’s a terrifying prospect, but his silence is telling anyway and Happy huffs.

She grabs her jacket and her keys and storms towards the front door and she hesitates for a second, with her hand on the latch like maybe she’s waiting for him to say something but he doesn’t. She sighs, all soft and defeated, her forehead pressed up against the wood.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Toby, but you need to stop expecting me to deal with it all if you won't even tell me what’s up.”

She leaves then, collects herself and shuts the door behind her with a quiet snick and it’s the argument is over before it ever really begins.

And that’s that.

-x-

Happy walks for a long time, wanders aimlessly around the city, barely paying attention to where she’s going until the buildings start to look familiar again. By that point, her feet have already decided where they’re taking her and she’s too tired to go back now.

She trudges up the steps of the building, rings the doorbell and hopes that there’s someone around to help her make sense of the chaos Toby’s left behind.

“Happy?”

Happy gives an awkward wave even as Paige pulls her into a tight hug.

“Come on in,” she says and Happy swallows thickly and follows her in. “Ralph, honey, why don’t you and Walter make a start on your homework in your room.”

Happy gives a brief smile to Walter and ruffles Ralph’s hair as he passes, lets Paige lead her into the kitchen and push her down into a chair.

“Are you okay?” Paige asks, and Happy raises an eyebrow at that. “Sorry, Toby called when you left,” she confesses, a light flush rising against her cheeks.

Happy can’t even bring herself to be mad about it, she’s just confused. She doesn’t understand how he can push her away but apparently care enough to ring her friends when she storms out. She doesn’t understand him and he doesn’t make it easy, either. She just doesn’t get people like Toby does, she never has.

She stares down at her bracelet and twists her rings in circles over and over again, not knowing where to start or how it all started anyway and Paige just waits patiently for a story Happy doesn’t have.

“I think he might be mad at me, maybe? But I don’t know why.”

Paige makes a scandalized noise at the back of her throat and reaches forward to wrap her hands around Happy’s and Happy bites down on her lip to stop the telltale tremble.

“Happy, you’re his best friend. He doesn’t know how to be mad at you.”

The words should be comforting but he’s become so distant lately and they can barely manage ten minutes in the same room together. She’s not sure it counts as friendship anymore and that hurts a lot. She feels overheated and she shakes and pretends that her eyes don’t burn.

“Happy,” Paige says and Happy isn’t even looking at Paige but she can practically feel the sad, puppy dog eyes being sent her way. “Look, I wasn’t going to say anything because I don’t think it’s my responsibility to but...” Paige trails off as she stands, carefully extricating herself from Happy’s hold and leaving the kitchen for a second. Happy uses the time to swipe the beginnings of tears away from her lashes and tug at the ends of her hair in frustration. She inhales as deep as she can, until her chest hurts and lets it whoosh out of her all at once.

Paige sits back at the table, a book held close to her chest.

“I think you deserve to know what’s going on with Toby.” Paige stares at the book and Happy bites her lip against the urge to interrupt and demand answers, her heart humming in her chest. “Has Toby given you a copy of his latest book yet?”

Happy’s gaze is immediately drawn to the book as she shakes her head and she feels a sick twisting in her stomach because Toby has never not given her a pre-release copy. He’s always made sure she’s the first to read it, beyond the editors and a few journalists.

“Is that it?” Paige nods and Happy tries to swallow her next question down because she really doesn’t want to know. “When did you get it?” she asks, and hates herself for it.

“A week ago. I think you should read it.” Paige puts the book on the table and drums her fingers against the cover before she pushes the book towards Happy, who just stares at it. “Like, now.”

Paige gives Happy a significant look and raises her eyebrows and Happy feels like it’s maybe not a suggestion. She takes it all in, eyes lingering on the delicate artwork emblazoned across the front depicting a man and a woman caught mid-embrace and even she can tell that there’s something about this book compared to his others. It looks more high-end, somehow? It’s missing the euphemistic title and the cheap nudity on the cover and it’s so very not Toby’s style. She reaches out and drags it closer with the tips of her fingers as if it might burn if she touches it for too long.

“I’ll make us some tea,” Paige says, standing and turning to putter through the kitchen cupboards as if to afford Happy some measure of privacy and it makes Happy’s skin burn with embarrassment, all too aware that when it comes to reading Toby’s books, she has a habit of waiting for an empty apartment, a glass of wine and the earliest opportunity to slip a hand into her underwear.

She eyes Paige, who is taking an unusually long time to prepare two mugs and a pot of tea and, with butterflies in her stomach, Happy picks the book open, flicks it open and begins to read.

She’s instantly endeared by the two main characters who are good friends and quite clearly a little strange, but they fit together well, their obvious corners overlapping and smoothing one another out and she notes, not for the first time, that Toby truly does have a way with words.

Happy reads on, finds herself immersed in the narration of their lives and adores the subtle way in which the protagonists’ thoughts align but it never feels forced or awkward and she adores the way they perceive each other.

To her, he is frustrating and obnoxious and sweet.

And to him, she is smart and capable and fun _and that personality happens to be wrapped in a nice little package..._

There’s a moment where Happy stares frozen, her brain running over and over the line in her mind.

_and that personality happens to be wrapped in a nice little package..._

She is transported back to the earliest hours of their friendship, when they were more roommates of convenience than much else and she’d angrily torn her way through the flat looking for first aid supplies, still riding the adrenaline of a messy breakup and trailing blood across the floor to prove it.

He had been the one to talk her down, push her towards the kitchen table so he could reach to check the collage of cuts across her left foot. He’d asked her what had happened and she’d told him the truth. ‘He wouldn’t let me out of his truck, called me crazy,’ she had said, ‘so i put my foot through his window.’

And he had cleaned and bandaged her up, told her that she was smart and capable and fun _and that personality happens to be wrapped in a nice little package._

She bursts into a flurry of movement, flicks back a few pages to make sure she’s not losing her mind but it’s all there. _Dark hair and darker eyes_ , the book says, _small and compact and fiery._ And it’s definitely not how she considers herself, but it’s undeniably her, from the patchwork scars across her hands to the dimple on her right shoulder and _God_ , he even waxes poetic about her _wrists_.

Happy stands abruptly, her chair screeching across the tiled floor and she doesn’t know what her face is doing but Paige must see something there because she smiles and dismisses her with a wave of a hand and a quick ‘let me know how it goes!’

Happy dashes out of the house, her nails imprinting crescent moons into the pages of the book.

-x-

It’s dark when Happy lets herself in and the apartment is shrouded in a desperate hush. The lights are off and she starts when she catches Toby’s eyes in the dark, his silhouette softened by the shadows cast by the light of the outside world. She drops her keys on the table and takes a few small steps towards him. He’s lounging against the wall at the end of the hall, affecting a casual stance but she can see where he’s tangled his fingers in the ends of his shirt.

Happy clears her throat, attempting to drag her attention away from the way her body thrums in anticipation.

“Were you waiting for me?”

Toby shrugs a shoulder indelicately, says, “Paige,” and it’s all the answer she needs.

She flexes her fingers, remembers the book she’s still clutching onto and holds it up to wave it in his direction.

“You wanna explain this?”

Happy takes another step forward.

“Did you like it?” Toby asks, and Happy watches him watch her and the seconds stretch on by.

“It was idiotic, but ballsy,” she eventually allows.

He stands up at that, takes a few steps forward of his own until they’re close enough to breathe each other’s air.

“And ballsy’s good, right?”

Happy raises an unimpressed eyebrow, tightens her hands around the book and hits him square in the chest with it, as hard as she can.

Toby releases a strained moan, mutters about his lungs and Happy can’t help but flash him a shy smile as her heart flutters, even when Toby protests.

“What was that for?”

“You wrote _porn_ about me.”

“Correction: I wrote _amazing porn_ about you.”

She hits him again.

 _“_ It’s still _porn!”_

Toby wheezes as he rubs at his abused chest, his eyes wide and bright and lovely.

“Is that a ‘no’ then?”

Happy considers him and considers the book in her hands and that’s the entire crux of the matter, really, isn’t it?

“I... don’t think so,” she says as she takes that last final step so they’re chest to chest. She tries to remain firm with her disapproval of his methods, but it’s hard to keep hold of her irritation when he’s beaming down at her like that.

“Good.”

And between one breath and the next, he’s pulling her up onto her tiptoes and kissing her, a hand coming up to cup her jaw and she sighs into his mouth because

_yeah_

and

_okay_

and

 _finally_.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you should definitely thank [Jenny](http://hero7632.tumblr.com/), [Paige](http://jonsnw.tumblr.com/) and [Cassidy](http://happyfuckingquinn.tumblr.com/), veritable Queens and King of my heart, respectively, without whom this fic might never be finished or would definitely be less coherent due to their combined cheerleading/handholding/americanizing and inexhaustible effort and compassion. You three continue to amaze me and I love you all for it.
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are my own and you can find me [here](http://melancholylouis.tumblr.com/).


End file.
